


Christmas Lights

by ghostfleur



Category: Coldplay (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chris Martin - Freeform, Christmas, Coldplay, Hurt/Comfort, Jonny Buckland - Freeform, M/M, buckin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 19:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6578860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostfleur/pseuds/ghostfleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is not in love with Jonny. Well, that's what he tries to tell himself. The realization that he has desperately fallen in love with his best friend is eating away at him.</p>
<p>One Christmas eve, everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Lights

Chris stared down at the lyrics he'd written. It was only two verses, and the lines were simple, but they were still enough to hold the feelings he held for Jonny.

He tilted his head, and his abundance of blond curls flew backwards. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fingers. Tomorrow was Christmas, and he was spending it with his best friend. As excited as he was, he was also very nervous.

He pushed his hand through his hair, sighing in exasperation. He had been questioning his sexuality lately, which confused him, because he had genuinely been attracted to women before. But he just couldn't help himself.

_I am not gay, I am not gay._

He told himself this phrase over and over again. Tears formed in his ocean blue eyes, and they began to silently stream down his face. He wiped them away angrily. He shouldn't be crying over something so utterly stupid.

_In a haze_  
_A stormy haze_  
_I'll be round_  
_I'll be loving you_  
_Always, always  
_

_Here I am and I take my time_  
_Here I am and I'll wait in line_  
_Always, always_

He cringed at what he'd written. He felt . . . disgusted with himself. He took the paper in his hands and hastily threw it in the bin. This wasn't like him. He didn't want this.

His eyes flitted around his dorm, and they landed on his guitar. It was an acoustic; a Vicente Tatay Tomas. He picked it up and plucked at the strings, making sure it was tuned enough for him to play it. He absentmindedly began to strum out chords, and he was shocked to find himself singing the song he had just written.

"That was beautiful!"

He yelped, and his fingers slipped from the frets, causing an awful buzzing noise when his right hand came down to meet the strings.

"Jonnyboy! You scared me!" he exclaimed in fright, although he was smiling widely. Jonny smiled back at him. He sat down next to Chris on the couch.

"Is that for the album?" he asked.

Chris tensed. He was embarrassed that his friend had heard the song that he'd written for him. He sighed, gently placing his guitar down. "No. I actually hate it."

Jonny was baffled. Chris wrote beautiful lyrics. How could he hate them? As he was thinking this, he enveloped the blue-eyed man beside him in a tight embrace.

Chris felt his breath hitch in his throat. Jonny's warm breath spread across his neck, and he shivered lightly. If he could, he would have leant down to kiss him, but he controlled himself. He didn't want to frighten him.

"So, Jay," he said as he let his arms loosen around him. "You still up for tomorrow?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world!" he replied jovially. Chris smiled to himself, peering down at his grey sock-clad feet. He stood up and wandered to the small kitchen to search through their even smaller refrigerator. He grinned when he saw that there was still half of a bar of chocolate in the side compartment. He took it out and bit into it, his face scrunching up adorably when he realized how brittle it had become from being in the ice-cold fridge.

"You'd think that you'd be a little less scrawny considering the amount of chocolate you eat," Jonny chortled. As soon as the words left his mouth, Chris's smile faltered. He knew Jonny was only joking, but he'd always been self-conscious of how thin he was. He didn't have pounds of muscle; he was skin and bones.

But he brushed it off and plastered a bright smile on his face anyway.

"Very funny, Jon," he said sarcastically, self-consciously wrapping his arms around his body. He once again found his fingers combing through his hair.

"I need to chop this mop off of my fucking head," he groaned.

_"No!"_ Jonny cried. "It suits you. You'd look awfully strange without it."

Chris smiled bashfully as he kneaded his hands together. He began to feel the familiar warm feeling in his stomach.

"Do you want to go out for dinner tonight? You've been cooped up in this place all day," Jonny asked cheerfully.

Chris nodded quickly, shaking his hair all over the place in the process. "Yeah, mate, just let me put some warmer clothes on."

* * *

As the two men ambled down the icy London streets, Chris's eyes would more than occasionally flicker to Jonny.

_This is almost like a date,_ he thought to himself, grinning internally. He'd been out for dinner with him several times, but that was . . . _before_ these thoughts had begun to haunt him.

He shoved his hands further into his pockets in an attempt to warm them. His jaw trembled and his nose stung because as the freezing wind that whipped around him. He couldn't wait to heat up inside of a warm pub with a hot drink and a sandwich.

When they were finally inside, Chris shrugged off his heavy coat before taking his seat beside Jonny at the bar, who'd already ordered himself a beer.

"What did you do today?" his friend asked as he ran his pink tongue over the the white froth on his top lip.

"Oh, nothing really," he replied, folding his hands on the glossy mahogany bar in front of them. "I wrote that one song that you walked in on me playing and worked out the piano chords for _Trouble_."

"You'll need to play them for me soon," Jonny said as he took another sip of the amber liquid. He peered at him over his glass, and Chris felt a pang in his chest. As they continued their seemingly nonchalant conversation, he began to feel even more uncomfortable.

"I'll be back," he said abruptly, cutting Jonny off mid-sentence. He quickly made his way to the bathroom, where he locked himself inside of a stall and sat cross-legged atop of the toilet.

He buried his head in his hands, crying for the second time today. Except this time, he allowed his liquid sorrow to betray him.

_I love him._

"Why is this happening to me?" he demanded to nobody in particular. He didn't have control over his feelings. Oh, how he wished that he could!

Over his sobbing and sniffling, he didn't hear the door open. He didn't hear the man he loved walk in. He composed himself and unlocked the door, walking straight into the comforting arms of Jonny Buckland.

"Sh-h, Chris . . . what's wrong?" he asked softly, caressing the other man's back. Chris's tears began to flow again, slowly forming a wet spot on Jonny's shirt.

"Jon . . . it's everything. I-I don't think I can tell you . . ." he sobbed. Jonny's hand moved to cup his nape, and he stroked his sandy blond curls.

"Chris, you know you can tell me anything," he said.

"It's not that, it's just that I don't think I'm _ready_ to tell you."

Jonny held him until his tears ceased to fall.

"Alright, I'm going to get you home now," he whispered, still keeping his hand on his lower back in an attempt to comfort him. "I'll start a fire and make you some tea. That sounds good, yeah?"

"Yeah," Chris sighed as he was led out of the pub.

_Yeah._

_-_

Chris stared blankly at the blazing fire in front of him. The orange and yellow flames danced in his eyes, which were still rimmed in red from his pity party in the toilets. He snuggled deeper into the soft red blanket.

He held his hands in front of the fire despite the strange tingling sensation that it caused. He could hear the high-pitched whistling of the kettle on the stove, and some minutes later, Jonny moved in beside him with two cups of black tea.

"I put milk and sugar in it. I know that's how you like it," he said softly as he tentatively took a sip from his piping hot drink. There was a long silence between the two, and Chris itched to break it. However, he restrained himself.

"Chris, what happened? What's the matter?"

_Should I tell him?_

_No, you fucking idiot!_

"Chris?"

He was suddenly aware of Jonny's hand moving in front of his face. He opened his mouth, hoping something reasonable would come out.

Nothing.

He felt tears pricking the back of his eyes. He sniffled and blinked them away. He wouldn't cry in front of Jonny again.

"Something's really upsetting you, isn't it?"

He nodded in response, laying his head on his friend's shoulder. Jonny provided a strong sense of comfort for him. He wrapped his arms around his waist, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

"I love someone, Jon," he said softly, almost hoping that he wouldn't hear what he'd just said.

"Chris, that's great! What's she like?"

_If only he knew._

"She is . . . " he paused, knowing that 'she' wasn't the proper word, " _they_ are the most amazing person alive. They make me so happy. My knees go weak and I get this warm tingly feeling in my stomach whenever they touch me or talk to me. That song that I wrote today, that song is for them. That's how I feel about them. I love them so much, Jon."

"Ah, you're just in love! Why so sad, then?"

Chris sighed, his breath shaky. "Because I know that they'll never feel the same. They'll reject me. They will _hate_ me!" he cried. He ended his sentence in tears, and he once again quivered in the arms of the one that he loved.

"Nobody could possibly hate you, Chris," Jonny coaxed, lightly running his hand over his spine. He stopped his hand has the small of his back, and Chris's breathing stopped altogether. If he lost his self-control . . .

"You alright, lad?"

Chris wound his arms around Jonny's shoulders and buried his face into his neck. He could smell him; the wonderful smell of his cheap cologne mixed with the faint scent of beer and cigarette smoke. He was completely losing himself in this man.

"I feel safe when I'm with you," he muttered against his skin, acquiring the slightest taste of him. He regretted what he'd said. Was it too much? His breathing was still shaky, but it was not from crying. He was genuinely nervous around Jonny.

"Jonnyboy," he whispered, utterly dismayed at how shaky his voice was. He brought his hand to his face, caressing his cheek before pulling it away.

_Shit._

He was horrified with himself. He loved Jonny, but if he fucked up their friendship because of his actions, he could lose him forever. And not having Jonny in this way was far better than not having him at all.

His thoughts were cut off by the sudden feeling of Jonny's soft lips on his cheek. The man immediately pulled away, walking away from Chris completely. He immediately felt the cold settle into his bones with the loss of contact.

"Chris . . . I shouldn't have done that," Jonny apologized, tripping over his words.

"Did you . . . did you _want_ to?" Chris asked hopefully.

"Y-yeah," Jonny stuttered in response.

"Then come here," he said, once again wrapping his arms around the guitarist. He looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of fright or regret. But his green eyes contained nothing but pure lust. Jonny wound his fingers in a fistful of blond curls, bringing Chris's lips to his, who let out a groan of sheer relief.

"I've waited so long for this," Jonny said breathlessly before climbing on top of his blue-eyed friend on the couch. He kissed him deeply, urgently, with a fiery passion Chris would never have guessed that he had.

Chris reciprocated his actions, and they soon found themselves in a tangle on the couch. Chris was breathless, and he trembled uncontrollably. His mouth was agape in a crooked manner, and he gazed at his newfound lover with wide, dilated eyes. Jonny was immensely turned on by this, and when his hands slipped under his shirt, skimming the smooth skin of his stomach, he leant down and whispered into his ear.

"Let's take this to my bedroom."

Chris's breath hitched in his throat.

_Oh God._

Before he knew it, he was on his back on Jonny's bed. Jonny helped him remove his shirt, and he crossed his arms over himself, self-conscious of being so exposed.

"My God, Christopher," he beamed, "you're so fucking beautiful, you know that?"

His cheeks flushed a deep red. He wasn't used to being called beautiful.

Jonny nuzzled his face into his belly, and he ran his tongue over his heated skin. Chris's back arched as he felt the wonderful new sensations coursing through his veins. He grabbed at fistfuls of his reddish-blond hair, holding him closer to him. When their lips met again, Chris's hands maneuvered under Jonny's own shirt, stroking his back as he slipped it over his head.

"And you thought _I_ was beautiful," he breathed as his mouth latched on to his throat. A faint groan escaped Jonny's lips as he continued to place open-mouthed kisses onto his collarbones, his chest, and finally, to his stomach. He pulled Jonny into his arms, reveling in the feeling of being skin to skin with him.

"Jesus, Chris," Jonny muttered against his chest, "how are you always so warm?" He didn't expect an answer.

"Jon, you know the person that I told you about? The one who I wrote the song for?"

Jonny's face fell. He forgot about this other person that Chris had been talking about.

"Jon . . . That person . . . that person is you," he said before leaning down to kiss him gently. The single kiss lasted a long time before Chris let go, snuggling deeper into Jonny's arms.

"I love you, Jonnyboy."

 


End file.
